


Scraped Knees and Coronets

by maxcellwire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, FrUkNewYears2016, Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxcellwire/pseuds/maxcellwire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis is mostly ambivalent about working for the Kirkland family. Being a servant hadn't exactly been his goal in life, but he supposes he could have it worse. Working for the royal family means he's generally cared for, and he supposes even the young prince Arthur isn't all that bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scraped Knees and Coronets

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for the FrUk New Year's Gift Exchange, and this gift is a Prince AU fic for arthurbloodykirkland! I'm sorry it's taken so long but it ended up a lot longer than I anticipated oops. Still, it's here now, so I hope it's what you wanted! Please enjoy :D  
> Also just a note, since I'm not sure if it's clear, Francis is maybe a year or so older than Arthur. Just in case you thought there was some creepy age difference thing going on.

Francis’ day began as it always did, with him watching the sun slowly rise out his bedroom window before he got dressed. His clothes were fairly simple, but not horrible, and his room was the same, rather small but with a few pictures on the wall to liven it up.

It was average, just like Francis.

Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the pantry, where the other servants were preparing for the day ahead. Here the maids were finishing off the cleaning to make sure that the palace was sparkling, the cooks were preparing bacon and fresh bread for breakfast, and the groundskeeper was off to check up on the animals, collecting the hens’ perfect eggs for that morning. Francis received his orders, nodded dutifully, and then made his way back upstairs.

His task was the same every day, albeit sometimes with _slight_ variations, since he was working with people rather than objects. It was his duty to wake up the young master of the house and prepare him for the day, to endure his complaining patiently and to assist him with his own daily tasks. He had to follow him around everywhere and ensure that he aided him to the best of his abilities, so that the prince was free to learn and progress without any hindrance. He was to be the future king, after all, and his education was of the highest importance.

It hadn’t always been like this. Francis had always woken early, yes, but then _he_ would be the one preparing breakfast, and he would get to eat it too, with his family at their kitchen table. He would be the one to check on the animals, to feed the chickens and to check on the pigs, and he would work in the sun until his mother called him in for lunch.

That had been a long time ago.

He knocked quietly on the young master’s bedroom door, waiting with his hands behind his back. There was no response – there never was – but Francis still had to keep up the same routine. God forbid he change it up and be called impertinent. He knocked again, louder this time, and heard a slight groan through the wood as a reward for his efforts. Smirking, he took that as permission and let himself in.

“Good morning, Master Arthur!” Francis sang cheerfully as he bustled into the room, pulling open the curtains to let the light stream in. The man in question whined, curling into a ball on his four-poster bed and burying himself in blankets. “It’s a beautiful day today, for once the sun is shining in this bleary country, and it’s the perfect weather to get things done.”

“You never give me a break, do you, Francis,” Arthur grumbled, his voice hoarse with lingering sleep, and Francis laughed.

“Why, of course not! If I have to be up at the crack of dawn every day, then why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I’m the prince.” Francis saw Arthur’s green eyes peeking out from his blanket cave and crouched down to meet them.

“So you keep telling me, but frankly you don’t look like much of a prince right now. Aren’t princes supposed to be daring and always ready to save the damsel in distress from the fearsome dragon?”

“Why would I want to fight a dragon? They never did any harm to me. Actually, they’re often quite docile creatures, if you treat them in the right way.” Francis rolled his eyes, glad that Arthur seemed to be awake now and wouldn’t go back to sleep if Francis takes his eyes off him.

“Well either way, you won’t be meeting any dragons at all if you don’t get out of bed. Come on, you’ve got lots to do today. Your father’s got a busy schedule for you.”

“Joy of joys,” Arthur said dryly, pushing back the blankets and sitting up in bed. His honey blonde hair was ruffled and messy from sleep, and there was a little dry track of spittle at the corner of his mouth that he hadn’t noticed yet, rubbing at his bleary eyes. Francis suppressed a smile, and thought that he could have had worse jobs. One day, when Arthur is king, Francis will be able to remember the very _un_ -kingly way he looked in the morning and know that, behind all that pomp and decoration, there’s a real man who drools in his sleep.

He knew that he was lucky to work for the Kirklands. When he had first been brought here, dragged along by burly soldiers whose strong hands had left bruises on his arms for weeks, he’d dreaded it. Working for the family who had ordered the siege of his land, had taken his family, his friends and everything he held dear – what could be worse than that? Surely they must be savages, warmongering and heartless.

In retrospect, he should have realised that the kingdom’s royalty would be much more proper than that. They were so far removed from reality that they probably didn’t even know what had happened in order to provide them with all these new servants and the sudden influx of money and power. Especially Arthur, who was barely a man, following in his father’s shadow everywhere he went. Francis couldn’t forgive them for what had happened, no, but he found he couldn’t hate them either.

“So what will it be today?” Francis asked, opening Arthur’s wardrobe to examine his options. “You have fencing practice after breakfast, so I imagine you’ll want something simple, yes?”

“Anything will do.” Arthur waved a dismissive hand at him as he made for the adjoining bathroom, leaving Francis to choose his outfit for him. The other man had always had an eye for those sorts of things, much more so than Arthur.

As always, Francis spent a good few minutes browsing through Arthur’s clothes while the prince freshened up in the bathroom. In the end, he laid out a simple white button-up and fitted brown trousers on Arthur’s newly-made bed, and hung Arthur’s favourite crimson jacket on the door just in case.

When Arthur returned from the bathroom, he went to stand before his bed, where his boots had been placed in anticipation, and turned expectantly towards Francis.

“Do you really still need me to do this for you?” Francis sighed teasingly as he began to unbutton Arthur’s nightshirt. “How old are you now?”

“That’s your job!” Arthur spat back. “It’s not that I _can’t_ do it myself, but rather why should I when you’re here?”

“All right, then. You do it.” Francis stepped back, leaving Arthur standing there with his shirt half open, staring at him. “Go on.”

Huffing, Arthur shrugged off his nightshirt, reaching for the pristine white one laid on the bed. There was no shame between them at this point, not when Francis had been dressing him for several years now. Sometimes he wondered if Arthur would ever tell him he was no longer needed in the morning, since the prince would be coming of age soon enough, but the routine had been the same all throughout his teenage years. It was comforting, for some reason.

The clean shirt was slipped over his shoulders and Arthur fumbled with the buttons, struggling to find them amid the ruffles of fabric.

“What’s the point in all this fancy stuff?” he grumbled, bottom lip poking out in a sweet pout.

“Come here, let me do it,” Francis said, batting Arthur’s hands away and completing the task effortlessly, letting the ruffles fall straight down the middle of his slim chest. Arthur deliberately didn’t look at him, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and just let Francis dress him. Even like this, his posture was perfect, his shoulders gently sloping and his head held high. He may have only be half-dressed, his skinny legs poking out from beneath the shirt, but there was an aura of confidence around him that came with being the heir to the throne of a powerful kingdom.

Once Arthur was dressed and had pulled on his boots and jacket, he raked a hand through his hair, smirking at Francis’ despairing look, and headed down towards the dining room. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the corridors as they got closer, and Francis’ stomach gurgled quietly. The food wasn’t for him, though, and he went and took his place obediently in the corner of the room, watching Arthur sit down in his customary seat across from his father.

“Good morning, Arthur,” the king greeted him, spreading butter over his still warm bread. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you, father,” Arthur replied. “Peter, could you pass me the juice, please?”

Arthur’s younger brother, the spitting image of him in all but his bright blue eyes, nudged it over to him, a few drops of juice spilling onto the tablecloth. Arthur glared at him, praying the king wouldn’t notice.

He filled his plate and nodded his head at the pile of letters at his father’s elbow.

“Any news from James?” he asked, drizzling honey over his bread. His father let out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

“I wish he’d at least send us some news. Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean that we don’t care about him. It’d be nice to hear what he’s up to every now and again, and make sure he’s safe.”

Arthur’s elder brother, James, had been the original heir to the throne, before their mother had died not long after Peter had been born. The family had been stricken with grief, James more than anyone, and the tension in the palace had sky-rocketed. Every day there was a new argument, the walls shaking as James thundered through the corridors, and their shouts echoed around the room as their father desperately tried to save face in front of the servants. Eventually it had all become too much, and James had run off, stating that he was going to join the army instead.

Five years down the line, their relationship has mostly healed. James came back to visit when he wasn’t on campaigns, and they received letters telling tales all about his endeavours every now and then. It was always bittersweet for Arthur, who had suddenly been forced to shoulder the heir’s burden, tossed out of his playful childhood and settled into his princely lessons. Everybody knew that Arthur was much more suited to be king – where James had a fiery temper and couldn’t concentrate on anything for too long, Arthur was level-headed and disciplined, and his father was sure he would turn out to be a just and righteous king. The only one who doubted it was Arthur himself.

Arthur’s lessons followed breakfast, and the first hour was spent inside to let his food settle, studying the old literature of the kingdom. Arthur always had a soft smile on his face while he was reading, even if he was meant to be working, and it buoyed Francis up a little bit while he went about his own duties for the day.

Then came the fencing practice, Francis being in charge of taking care of the equipment and watching out for Arthur’s safety. The man training him, an ex-knight, would never dream of hurting the future king, but Arthur himself could be a bit clumsy and had almost seriously hurt himself more than once. It was enough to give Francis a heart attack.

Thankfully, all these years of lessons had somehow mentioned to bestow some skills upon the young prince, and he was now able to wield the foil fairly confidently while sparring with the knight, stepping back and forth carefully so that he didn’t slip, twisting his wrist so that they clashed at just the right angle. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Francis watched the muscles in his forearms flexing with his movements, almost hypnotised as he counted the freckles on Arthur’s fair skin.

A click in the face knocked him out of his trance.

“Water, please, Francis,” Arthur demanded, pushing his hair back from his sweaty brow. Francis obeyed silently, berating himself internally for spacing out. He should’ve been paying attention to make sure that Arthur didn’t get hurt! If the king caught him slacking off while he was working, that would surely be the end of him. Or if he was somehow able to find out that Francis had just been ogling his son, even if it was only for a few seconds….

Arthur received the water gratefully, chugging it down in one go, and grinned at Francis.

“I suppose I need to work on my stamina a bit. No use being able to fight if I’m exhausted after a few minutes,” Arthur laughed breathlessly.

“I’d say that’s an unfair judgement, Master Kirkland,” the knight said with a hearty laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve become much better than you used to be. I’d be afraid to meet you in battle.”

Arthur ducked his head, letting his fringe fall back down to cover his brow and hide his face.

“Hopefully you won’t be meeting _anyone_ in battle,” Francis said, folding his arms across his chest, “or else we’ll be in trouble, hm?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, picking up his jacket and striding back inside, leaving Francis and the knight out in the sunshine.

“It’ll be a shame not to do these lessons anymore,” the knight murmured, stretching and clicking his back. “Now that Master Kirkland’s all grown up he won’t need us, will he?”

“He’ll still need me,” Francis shot back, perhaps a little too defensively, because the knight glanced at him out the corner of his eyes. “Just because he’s almost eighteen doesn’t mean he’ll miraculously become a perfect king overnight.”

“Ah, you’re right there. But he won’t be having official lessons anymore, so I won’t be needed at least. What’ll I do with all this free time now?”

He hummed softly as he helped Francis clear up after the lesson, and then asked, “When’s the big day again?”

“23rd. Six days from now.”

“Huh. Must be getting busy then, with all the preparations and that. Can you give me any secrets about what they’re gonna do?” The knight winked at Francis, who shook his head with a small smile.

“I’m afraid that information is private. You’ll just have to wait and see, hm?”

In truth, trying to keep it all secret was killing Francis. He was the one who had to interact with Arthur every day, and it would be so easy to accidentally mention something they had been planning when Arthur wasn’t around. Arthur of course knew that _something_ would be happening; after all, the heir to the throne would only come of age once, so the celebrations were likely to extend out into the major towns and cities of the kingdom.

Francis smiled to himself as he thought about it, feeling the excitement bubbling up inside him yet again as he carried the swords back to the armoury. Then it was on to lunch with the maids while Arthur returned to his studies, one of Francis’ favourite parts of the day, as he could spend some time gossiping and preparing for Arthur’s birthday with Elizabeta and Emma.

There was nothing at all unusual about this day. Everything went just as planned, and Francis was preparing to congratulate himself on another day of successful work, when he passed by the door to the parlour. Usually it was quiet, unless the king was entertaining guests, but he could hear a low voice talking and paused for a moment.

He knew it was rude to listen, and his job was to be discreet, which meant not paying attention to any official business. He wasn’t allowed to influence the king’s policies at all, and any breach of that particular rule would almost certainly result in his death, he was sure of it. But Francis was prevented from moving from that spot when he heard another voice, pitched ever so slightly higher, and immediately recognised it as Arthur.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, Father,” he was saying, and he sounded confused. “I thought you said that the campaign in Terrahumilis was going smoothly?”

The king must have been sitting further away, by the fireplace perhaps, because Francis struggled to distinguish his words without pressing his ear flat to the door.

“Wouldn’t that just defeat the point of it in the first place, then? Why bother to try and make peace after you’ve already done the damage?”

Francis frowned. He knew that they were currently at war with Terrahumilis, a fact that tore at his heartstrings every day, but as far as he had been aware, there was no discussion of pulling out of the campaign. They’d been making steady advances further into the continent, and the only news that returned from the front line was good news. If they were on the path to a successful invasion, why stop now?

“Isn’t that just giving up? James will be so cross if you bring him back just like that.”

There was no response this time, and Francis ached to see the king’s expression, wondering whether his face was pinched or if he was staring into the fire.

“Anyway,” Arthur changed the subject, “I don’t understand what this has to do with me. _You’re_ the king; surely you should be the one making peace?”

A long pause. Francis inched closer to the door, straining to hear the king’s words, and was getting closer and closer to the wood when suddenly Arthur shouted, and he leapt back in shock.

“What?! Father, you can’t be serious! No, I will not!”

The other voice sounded louder, now, firmer.

“That’s not fair! I-I haven’t finished my lessons yet. I’m not ready!”

Uh oh. This spelt trouble.

“No, father, I’m not – I’m not afraid, okay? I just think you should reconsider. I’m not happy with this plan.”

“Arthur, this is non-negotiable,” the king must have moved closer to the door. Perhaps he was pacing angrily as Francis had seen him do before, or maybe he had just raised his voice and he and Arthur were going to have a full-blown argument. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I said no!,” Arthur retorted sharply, his voice raised in a way that Francis only heard very infrequently. “I won’t let you marry me off to some girl from the continent because _you_ made a mistake!”

Francis gaped at the door. He’d thought perhaps the king was asking Arthur to go on a diplomatic trip for him, or even to meet James at the battlefront. But this…?

“Arthur, this is for the good of the country. The king of terrahumilis has a few daughters, lovely girls, all of them. If you’ll only come and visit with me, I’m sure you’ll find them all to be quite charming.”

“I don’t care how charming they are! I don’t care about girls at all! They could be the most beautiful girls in the world and have diamonds for eyes but I still wouldn’t care about them, and I won’t go through with this, Father! You can’t make my decisions for me!”

“You _will_ go through with this,” the king said, his voice steely and growing in volume, “and you will do as you are told. You are not the king yet, and you do not get to make these decisions. So you will be coming with me to Terrahumilis and you will marry one of those girls, whether you like it or not. Is that clear?”

Silence.

“Is that clear?” the king repeated, nearly at the top of his voice. Francis hoped nobody else was nearby to hear the exchange.

“Yes, Father,” Arthur muttered.

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Alarm bells sounded in Francis’ brain and he jumped back from the door just in time to avoid being walked into – although, not soon enough to go unnoticed. Arthur stormed out of the room, eyeing Francis suspiciously, his eyes glittering with unshed tears and his cheeks flushed. Then he scowled, screwing up his fine features and striding off, his fists shaking at his sides.

Francis didn’t follow.

When he woke up the next morning, he sat up in bed without looking outside, feeling sick at the thought of seeing Arthur this morning. The conversation he’d overheard weighed heavily on his mind, and his shoulders sank under the knowledge that Arthur would’ve been dwelling on it all night. He may not have even slept, knowing Arthur, and that would only mean Francis would have to keep him awake all day.

However, there was no escaping his work, and he went about his duties solemnly, pretending that he’d heard nothing as he picked out Arthur’s clothes for the day and leant against the wall, waiting for him to return from the bathroom.

When he did so, his nightshirt was hanging open already, and Arthur paused in the doorway as he glanced over at Francis.

“What’s got you down this morning?” he asked with a snort. “Not enough beauty sleep?”

Francis gave a dry laugh.

“Something like that.”

Arthur’s face betrayed nothing of the night before, and he seemed as pleasant as ever as they headed down for breakfast. Francis suspected it was all that princely training, making sure that he wold be level-headed and not too driven by his heart. Revealing his emotions at a critical point would almost certainly ruin him.

But Francis was sure he’d seen Arthur crying last night. How could he be so calm now, when faced with something like that?

Maybe that’s why Arthur was going to be king, and Francis wasn’t.

When they reached the dining room, it was empty, except for a spread of food and a placemat awaiting Arthur’s arrival. Francis glanced at Arthur’s face as the prince took in the scene, saw his lips twitch downwards slightly, before he took his seat. Francis was just moving to his position at the side of the room, when Arthur called him back and gestured to the seat opposite him.

“I’m not going to eat all this food by myself, so you might as well enjoy it,” he explained as Francis sat down carefully, a little bemused. “I’d rather not eat all by myself.”

“Thank you,” Francis said quietly, taking a small roll from the breadbasket, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Arthur’s face was placid, but the knife scraped holes through his bread as he buttered it angrily, his fists tight. Francis hoped he would be okay.

Arthur ate alone all day. He took his lunch with Francis between his lessons, and he requested Francis to bring him his dinner in his room. He sat cross-legged on his bed, a tray resting on his lap, and pushed some of his meal onto an extra plate, handing it to Francis. It was nothing too extravagant, just roasted meat and boiled vegetables, but it looked more mouthwatering than anything Francis had had in a very a long time. The meat was a proper joint, not the fatty leftovers that were left to them, and the vegetables were all of a perfect consistency, no irregularities or mush. Even the gravy was full of flavour, and Francis had finished within a few minutes. Arthur smiled and pushed his potatoes around his plate.

“Want some more?”

“No, I really shouldn’t,” Francis insisted, blushing at how rude he must have seemed, gobbling down his food in front of the prince like that. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

Arthur shrugged.

“I just don’t fancy it tonight.”

Francis was quiet for a moment, wondering whether to push it. The only noise in the room was the quiet ticking of the clock and the sound of Arthur’s cutlery scraping the plate as he toyed with his food.

“Is it about your father?” he asked tentatively, already knowing the answer but hoping that the question might invite Arthur to open up to him. The prince sighed, resting his plate on the side.

“I don’t know what to do to please him. I try everything, but he keeps asking for more and more. I don’t think I can give him everything he wants.” Arthur eyes were lowered, watching his hands twisting nervously in the sheets, and he looked older than Francis could ever have dreamed, the light from the candle at his bedside casting shadows across his youthful face.

“All you can do is your best, Arthur. Ultimately, it’s your life.”

“It won’t just be my life when I have a whole kingdom depending on me, though. My life is inevitably tied to the country’s, and everything that happens to me affects the kingdom too. If I stray from my duties, if anything goes wrong, we’ll be ruined.”

“What is it like, spending all your childhood learning what to do when your father dies?”

Arthur cracked a smile at that.

“That’s a little blunt, isn’t it? I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but now that you mention it, I can’t really achieve my full purpose until he passes. It is a little odd to think of it in that way. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

Francis was pensive, and he didn’t say any more, content to watch as Arthur settled, his dinner neglected for good. He fetched a well-worn book from his bedside table, one he had read so many times he must surely have known it off by heart by now, and lost himself in the fiction. It was an escape, a place where he could pretend he wasn’t a prince, but an adventurer or a scientist or a young child living out on the moors with his family. Nothing like the life that he faced now.

“I suppose I’ll take these dirty dishes down to the kitchen and leave you for the night then,” Francis said, getting up and stretching his legs from where they’d been curled underneath him. Out of nowhere, Arthur’s hand reached out to grab Francis’, and the servant froze where he stood, not daring to look back as Arthur’s thumb traced gently over his knuckles. Something stirred within him, and his skin tingled at the contact, but he didn’t want to spoil the moment. One word from him and everything would go wrong as it always did.

“Thank you, Francis,” Arthur whispered, and Francis could hear the wistful smile in his voice. His lips parted to reply, but no words came, and Arthur’s hand fell back to the bed. When Francis finally dared to look at him, he had disappeared into another world yet again.

Francis spent most of that night staring up at the ceiling, praying for some kind of answer.

He’d always felt as though he’d known Arthur too long to be surprised by him. He’d seen this boy happy, sad, excited, and lost. He’d seen him dressed up to the nines, seen him drenched from being caught in the rain, muddy from playing in the garden with Peter, seen him in nothing at all. He felt like nothing about Arthur would ever be new to him.

Not anymore.

And yet, the next day it was almost as though it had never happened. Francis was caught up in the preparations for Arthur’s birthday, which was now only a few days away, and Arthur himself was kept busy with studies and rehearsals. It was exhausting, but at least it gives Francis a chance to think about something else, focusing all his energy into useful projects and brushing off any of Elizabeta’s concerns.

Arthur ate dinner with his family again, and it seemed as though the whole debacle had graciously blown over, no mention of any conflict as they enjoyed their meal together. Peter told tales of his trip to the market with Emma – along with a whole horde of guards, naturally – and asked Arthur what he wanted for his birthday.

“I don’t know,” Arthur shrugged, “there’s not really anything I want that I don’t already have.”

The king looked like he had something to say in response to that, as he rested his cutlery on the plate and dabbed at his lips with the serviette.

“Nothing at all, Arthur? I hope that I’ve got you the right gift, then.”

“That depends what it is.” Arthur’s eyes were narrowed slightly, his back straight as a rod.

Francis knew exactly what he would buy him, if he had any money of his own. He would give him a flowerbed in the garden, packets of seeds to plant for the summer months, and a whole week of sunshine for him to enjoy. No use buying bouquets when the flowers would just wilt within a few days; with a live flowerbed, Arthur could tend to the plants whenever he wanted some peace and quiet. The picture was formed so perfectly in Francis’ mind that he almost regretted it wasn’t real, until the king’s words bring him back to reality.

“Well, I’ll give you a hint. It’ll help you on your travels; and you’ll hopefully be doing a lot of those, this coming summer, hm?”

Arthur stiffened and Francis felt the dread sink in the pit of his stomach.

“What, you’re going on holiday without me?” Peter whined. “That’s not fair! I haven’t been anywhere nice for ages. It always rains here, can’t I come with you? You’re not going to leave me behind, are you? _Are_ you?”

“You can go in my place, Peter,” Arthur muttered, the legs of his chair scraping painfully against the wooden floor as he pushed it back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the king demanded.

“Out.”

“Oh no, you are _not_ , young man. You’re not the king yet, you know! Get back here this instant!”

Arthur ignored him, striding out of the room and letting the door slam shut behind him. Francis looked back apologetically before he hurried after him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Arthur, won’t you go and finish your meal? This problem will never fix itself if you don’t try,” he pleaded, trying to keep up with Arthur’s angry pace.

“I don’t _want_ to try. ‘Fixing’ the problem just means giving in. I shan’t make any compromises.”

“Come, now, Arthur, don’t be like that.”

Arthur halted in the middle of the corridor, Francis nearly slamming into his back in surprise. His shoulders were shaking with his heavy breathing, and Francis’ took the moment’s respite to explain himself.

“I’m not asking you to compromise, you know that I’m always on your side. If you could just try and talk through this together, without getting cross with each other, I’m sure you could find some sort of answer.”

A shaky laugh left Arthur’s lips. Francis reached out for him, meaning to rest a reassuring hand on Arthur’s shoulder and lead him back to the dining room, but before he could, Arthur had twisted around and seized Francis’ face in his grasp. Francis barely had time to register the searing heat of Arthur’s lips pressed tightly to his own before he was off again, running out the back door and into the garden.

Now, Francis was no innocent. He’d fooled around with a couple of the maidservants before, just for fun and no harm done. A kiss was nothing new, yet he was left stunned in the corridor, watching as Arthur’s form disappeared into the trees, and slowly brought trembling fingers to his lips. The puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place, and the sense of dread from earlier took a firm root in his chest, at the same time as he tried to pretend there wasn’t a swirl of excitement and giddiness. He knew that nothing good could come of this, that Arthur had duties that extended far beyond the palace walls, and why on earth should he care for one of his servants, for goodness’ sake? Even if that servant had spent every day with him for the past few years, had always supported him and cared for him…

Okay, so perhaps he understood why this had happened. He knew he was a good-looking man as well, wasn’t oblivious to the looks he got when he walked past and the shock on people’s faces when they found out that no, he wasn’t a nobleman with poor fashion sense, he was just a humble servant. If Arthur had fallen for him, it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

And, Francis supposed, he wouldn’t be against being with Arthur, either. It might take some time to get used to, but he’d always thought of the prince as beautiful, even if he was infuriatingly stubborn and pessimistic. Waking up to Arthur’s face in the morning would be pleasant, and going to sleep curled up to his warmth would be even more so.

Such a shame, then, that he would have to reject him. It was for Arthur’s own good.

Francis heaved a sigh and set out in search of the prince in the garden.

He knew exactly where he would have gone, it was just a case of how he’d manage to get there. Somehow Arthur wasn’t scared at all of the trees’ extended branches that swayed about like old, crooked limbs, but Francis stumbled in the damp undergrowth, his face getting scratched by the plants as he passed by. He knew he should really be looking _up_ , but he had to watch his feet to make sure he didn’t trip over any roots.

“Arthur!” he called, standing stock still and trying to see if he could hear the sound of the prince running through the trees at all. There was no noise except his own ragged breathing and the rustle of the leaves in the wind, all light blocked out by the thick canopy of April. “Arthur, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself! Please come back, I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding, we can fix it…”

His voice trailed off as he heard a sob, and he whipped around, craning his neck up to see two legs dangling down from one of the tree branches. As he stepped back, Arthur came into view, sitting close to the trunk and resting his head in his arms. His trousers were torn and his shirt was muddy, and Francis knew that his hands were probably ripped up too.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Go away, Francis,” Arthur shouted back, twisting so that he faced the tree trunk.

“For goodness’ sake, you stupid boy, come down and we’ll talk this through.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Francis groaned. Was this seriously the future king, the prince who was to come of age in four days’ time?

“Then I’m coming up.”

He waited for another minute, hoping that perhaps Arthur would have mercy on him and scramble down, but once he’d established that Arthur wasn’t leaving his place, he paced around the thick trunk, looking for a place to begin climbing. He had no idea how he was meant to get up there, not when the nearest branch was way above his head, and so he dug his nails in as deep as he could as he wrapped his legs around the trunk, only to slip back down the bark.

Wincing, he tried again, grabbing onto a stump in the wood and hauling himself off the ground. His shoes were too slippery to have a good grip on the wood, so it was slow going, and his heart thundered in his chest every time he lost his footing and had to scrabble for purchase on the trunk. When he was about halfway up, he paused to catch his breath and made the mistake of looking down. Although the ground was only two or three metres below him, he could easily break his neck if he fell that far. A tremor ran through his whole body.

“Uh…Arthur?” he called with a shaky voice. “Where do I go next?”

Francis heard the branches shaking above him as Arthur shifted, peering around the trunk to where the other was clinging pathetically to anything he could.

“There’s a little stump just above your right foot,” Arthur told him calmly. “Get to that, then reach out for the branch over your head. You might have to jump to reach it.”

“Jump!?”

“You’re not scared, are you?” Francis didn’t even merit that with an answer, warily eyeing the branch above him. It was swaying and didn’t look stable at all; did Arthur really want him to grab hold of this? “Okay, okay, maybe there’s a way to get around jumping. Just-just stay put for a moment.”

He could hear Arthur above him climbing down from the branch he was perched on, shimmying down the trunk until he was sat on the branch above Francis. His weight pushed it a lot lower, until the leaves were brushing Francis’ head, and a steady hand appeared in Francis’ vision. He grabbed hold of it immediately and let himself be hauled up onto the branch beside Arthur, at which point he clung gratefully to the trunk.

“That was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life,” he gasped once he could finally think straight again.

“Seriously?” Arthur didn’t sound too impressed. He kicked his legs absently and laughed when Francis yelped at the movement. “I always come up here when I want to think.”

“I know you do,” Francis muttered. “Who do you think has to wash your muddy clothes after one of your sulking sessions?”

Arthur bit his lip to hide a guilty smile, and they lapsed into silence. If Francis managed to forget they were several metres up with only a small branch holding them back from their deaths, it was actually quite nice up there, and he could hear the wind whispering through the leaves and the sound of Arthur’s steady breathing beside him. They were pressed up close to each other so that they both fit on the thick, stable part of the branch, and Arthur’s body was warm where it met Francis’.

“Er, listen,” Francis began to say tentatively, scratching at the side of his nose and looking away. “About earlier…” He felt Arthur stiffen beside him.

“I apologise. It was rash of me, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like that.”

“Ah, no, that wasn’t what I was going to say. I mean, it probably wasn’t really a good idea, because if anybody had seen us, then I would probably be out of a job, but…ah. I just thought, perhaps there is something you need to talk about?

“I suppose you know everything already. You always do, you nosy parker.”

“I know some of the facts, but I don’t know your side of the story, Arthur,” Francis said softly, resting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “My job goes beyond bringing you breakfast in the morning, you know.”

Arthur’s lips twitched.

“I just thought that, since I’m almost an adult and all, I’d be allowed to make these decisions for myself now. I’m not a child anymore; Father’s always telling me I need to be responsible if I want to be a good king, but then he springs something like this on me! How can I possibly learn to think for myself if I can’t even choose who I want to marry?”

“Well…maybe you will want to marry her. She could be very nice, for all you know. And beautiful too. A good mother for your children-“ Arthur scowled

“I don’t care about that! I don’t want to marry – not her, not anyone!”

“You’ll have to marry _someone_ , Arthur. Even if it’s not for a few years yet, the people of the kingdom will be waiting to see who you pick out as your queen.”

“Why should I need a queen? Father doesn’t have a queen, and the people love him well enough.”

Francis sighed.

“Yes, you’re right, but he used to have a queen, and she was popular too. The queen looks after the king – she softens him when he’s too forceful and picks him back up when he’s weak. The queen is the only person in the world who can tell the king what to do, and she will be the one you can rely on. A queen isn’t necessary, I suppose, but wouldn’t it be much more pleasant to have somebody to share your time with?”

“I’ll just share my time with you, then. Isn’t that what you do, support me and scold me?”

Francis felt heat creep up his cheeks and he laughed slightly.

“I don’t think it’s quite the same. I’m your servant, not your partner.”

Arthur grumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Francis resisted the urge to groan. Arthur’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he could see that the prince was retreating into his thoughts. Once he got into one of these moods, it was difficult to draw him out again.

Looking out at the trees in front of them (and _not_ just because he was too scared to look down, thank you very much), Francis gently nudged Arthur’s side, feeling the other press back into him. It was really getting dark now, the first stars beginning to appear in the sky over their heads, and the soft moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. Francis could feel the tips of his fingers going numb from the cold and knew that he ought to return Arthur to his father so that they could discuss this properly, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

Neither was Arthur, by the looks of it. When Francis turned to ask him something, his words died in his mouth as he caught the prince’s eyes, that powerful gaze watching his every movement.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he said, the quiver in his voice disappearing with the daylight.

“A-about what?”

“About you. You’ll stay by my side even when I’m king, won’t you?”

“I’m sure you’ll have found somebody better than me by that point,” Francis laughed, looking away.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Francis felt a warm hand on his cheek, drawing his eyes back to Arthur’s face, and then Arthur was everywhere. His palm was soft against Francis’ jaw, his other hand resting on Francis’ knee, thumb brushing over the dips in his bones, and Francis could feel his breath tickling his cheeks as their lips touched, once, twice.

“Arthur, we can’t-“ Francis gasped, their foreheads resting together.

“We can. I don’t care what Father wants.”

“I – you deserve more than this. You need someone worthy of being a queen, not just me.”

“I don’t want a stupid queen, I wasn’t _you_ , Francis. Even if you wake me up stupidly early and tease me because I can never get my hair to look as gorgeous as yours and you sometimes mutter in a language I don’t understand, I want it. I want all of you.”

“All of me?”

As Francis watched, Arthur’s fierce eyes softened, colour rushing to his cheeks.

“Only if you’re willing to give it, of course!” he added hurriedly, and Francis had to join their hands and press a kiss to his knuckles before Arthur would return his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

“This is probably the stupidest thing I will ever do, but I’ve always been bad at saying no to you, Arthur,” Francis sighed wistfully, and Arthur snorted.

“I can’t think of any occasions where you _haven’t_ said no. ‘No staying up late, Arthur, and no biscuits before dinner!’” Arthur mimicked, his voice pitched higher.

“I don’t sound like that!” Francis cried.

“You do!”

“I do _not_ , you cheeky-hey! Get back here!”

Arthur cackled as he dropped down from the branch, shimmying down the tree trunk to the ground. He wiggled his fingers up at Francis, who was trying to scramble down from the branch without slipping, and took off, sprinting through the trees towards the palace.

“He’s going to be the death of me,” Francis muttered, wincing as he scraped his leg on the bark and fell to the ground with a thud.

Throughout the rest of the week, they hardly saw each other. Francis was kept on his toes preparing for Arthur’s birthday, and Elizabeta would hardly let him out of her sight, as she wanted to make sure that everything was perfect. All of the servants had been running around the palace, cleaning every room and preparing them for overnight guests, helping to plan the dinner arrangements, running rehearsals of the entertainment for the night, and much more besides. By the time Francis was free in the evening, he was ready to just flop face first into bed and sleep for the rest of the year.

Arthur, meanwhile, had been taken off his usual timetable of lessons in order to spend some ‘quality time’ with his father. Francis wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed, with most of their discussions being kept to private rooms, but Arthur always looked tense when he entered the room in the evening, and it would take a long chat and a cup of tea before he would settle down enough to tell Francis what was bothering him.

Being apart from each other was strange, since usually Francis was required to follow Arthur and take care of him in everything he did. Francis supposed he would have to get used to this, since there would be instances in which the king required some privacy and couldn’t be trailed by his servants all the time, but he had been desperate to talk to Arthur about the evening in the treetops. It had been going around his mind all the time, distracting him from his tasks so that Elizabeta would have to flap a tea towel in front of his face for him to notice her.

The only chance the two saw each other was brief glances in the corridor, or accidental meetings when they both ended up in the same place at the same time. Arthur always gave him that shy smile, ducking his head if his father was present so he couldn’t see the mischievous look on his face. Sometimes Arthur would deliberately excuse himself from the dinner table just to secretly kiss Francis behind the door, hiding in the shadows for a brief moment with barely a wall separating them from Arthur’s family. Francis was always left breathless afterwards, head spinning as he rested against the wall and tried to collect his thoughts again.

It was ridiculous that this boy could wrap him around his finger like this. Arthur had never been in a relationship before, Francis knew that well, so by logic it was Francis who should have been in control. Francis was the one who knew how to get what he wanted just by fluttering his eyelashes, he was the one who wooed all the ladies in the village with just a kiss on the cheek, who turned heads when walking through the streets. That Arthur could make him stutter and stumble with just a little kiss was utterly ridiculous, and yet so wonderful.

Only the night before Arthur’s birthday did things finally calm down. Everybody had been ordered to get an early night, since they would be rushed off their feet in the morning, and dinner had been a much more peaceful ordeal. Now that everything had been prepared to the best it could be, even Elizabeta couldn’t think of anything else that would need doing, and she spent the meal chatting with Emma about some gossip they’d overheard from the visitors who had arrived earlier in the day.

Francis washed up his dishes in silence, placing them in the cupboard and slowly winding down from the busy week. Arthur would be waiting for him in his bedroom, most likely, and he needed a moment to breathe before he could face him. This would be the last night before Arthur came of age, possibly the last night that Arthur would even need him anymore…

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Francis hissed to himself, “he’ll still only be the prince. He’ll be no different tomorrow from how he is today.”

Elizabeta and Emma both turned to look at him curiously, and he laughed off their concern, wishing them a good night as he headed up to the sleeping quarters.

He knocked softly on the door, hearing Arthur’s reply of, “Come in,” almost instantly.

The prince was sat in the middle of his bed crossed legged, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone and his jacket draped over the edge of the bed. His hair was ruffled from running his hands through it, and his toes wiggled in his socks as he glanced up at Francis, an almost nervous glint in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, lips curving into a smile.

“Good evening,” Francis answered in kind, perching on the edge of the bed beside the jacket. “How has your day been?”

Arthur shrugged.

“Exhausting, mostly. I can’t wait for all this fuss to be over.”

“Tomorrow will be a good day, though. A big celebration, nothing like you’ll ever experience again, or at least not until your coronation.”

“Mm, I know. I suppose it won’t be that bad, but it just seems strange to go to all this fuss just for one day.” He yawned, nose scrunching up as he stretched, and then mumbled, “I’m going to have a bath.”

Francis jumped up, taking his cue, and went to run the bath, cutting paths through the water with the side of his hand as he tested the warmth. He filled it almost to the brim, fetching Arthur’s scented soaps, and turned around from the cupboard to face the prince himself, discarding his towel in the corner of the room. Francis raised his eyebrows at Arthur’s openness but said nothing, placing the soaps within Arthur’s reach as he sank into the warm water with a pleasured sigh.

“I’ll wait for you in your room,” Francis said, but a hand snaked out of the water and wrapped around his wrist, dripping onto the floor as it tugged him back towards the bath.

“Francis, don’t go,” Arthur pleaded, teeth tugging at his lips. Francis relented, returning to his seat on the rim of the tub, swirling his hands in the water. The only sound was the steady _drip drip_ of the tap, Arthur closing his eyes and resting his head against the rim. Francis watched the steam rise from the water and curl in the air, clinging to his hair, and Arthur’s pale skin looked almost ethereal, like the moon shining through the mist. He felt his heart twist painfully in his chest.

A little bit of water sloshed over the edge as Arthur shifted, reaching down for the soap. Francis got there first, lathering his hands up and running them through Arthur’s hair, fingers pressing gently into his scalp. Arthur’s lips parted on a sigh and Francis smiled fondly, loving the feeling of Arthur’s soft hair slipping between his fingers, the scent of roses permeating through the bathroom.

_I could stay like this forever_ , he thought to himself, _it could be so easy. But I can’t._

Arthur ducked his head under the water, letting the bubbles float on the surface as he rinsed them out of his hair, and finished up washing. Francis found a fluffy towel in the cupboard, opening it wide to embrace Arthur in it as the prince stepped out of the bath. Water dripped between them onto the bathroom floor and slid out of Arthur’s hair, soaking into Francis’ shirt, but he grinned at the sight of the prince bundled up in the towel, face flushed from the warm water.

Arthur shivered as the cool air of his bedroom hit them when they opened the door, tugging the towel closer around his shoulders. Francis turned away to find some nightclothes in Arthur’s wardrobe, noticing the outfit that had been set out for the next morning and making sure to keep it safe from folds. And then –

Arthur lay on his side on the bed, hair fluffed up from the towel, backlit by the candle on the bedside table. Green eyes peered up at Francis through his eyelashes, the flush from the bath still dusting his skin, and Francis found himself frozen to the ground, feeling a little silly with an armful of clothes.

“Arthur,” his voice had fallen to a whisper, torn between what he was supposed to do and what he wanted to do. There was no mistaking what the other was asking for, and Francis would be lying if he said he didn’t want that either, but there was no way he could justify this. What a scandal it would be if anybody found out! The future king, presenting himself like this to a mere servant, knowing no better. They’d say Francis had taken advantage of him, and maybe Arthur’s future would be ruined, what a nightmare it would be.

“Francis,” Arthur said, and his gaze softened, “stop worrying. I know what I’m doing.” He patted the bed beside him invitingly. Francis licked his lips nervously, moving closer, and the mattress dipped as he pressed his hand down by Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur smiled, slow and sweet as treacle, and drew Francis into a kiss, greedy hands sliding over his shoulders as he pressed up into him. Francis’ hand came to rest at the small of Arthur’s back, trying to stabilise him as he stretched up for more contact, and he laughed quietly as Arthur flopped back into the bed, looking up at him coyly.

“Will you teach me?” Arthur asked, fingers trailing patterns over Francis’ chest, fingering the collar of his shirt. “I want to know how it feels. I want to know how _you_ feel, before I can’t anymore. I know you’ve done it before, won’t you do it with me?”

For a moment Francis’ brain gave up on him, Arthur’s words echoing over and over in his mind. After all the time he’d been working for this family, finally he had learnt the truth. It was _Arthur_ who was the trouble child, not Peter or James as he’d been led to believe. Arthur, who would scrape his knee climbing trees to try and find faeries, who stayed up past midnight reading novels and then could’t get out of bed in the morning, who reached out for Francis like that and begged him to teach him, because he knew now that Francis couldn’t say no.

What a mess he was going to make of him.

Francis said nothing, scooping Arthur up in his arms and kissing him deeply, trailing his hands lightly down Arthur’s torso as he mouthed at his neck. Arthur’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on Francis’ shirt, hurriedly pushing it off his shoulders so that his fingers could meet Francis’ skin, already burning hot. Francis knew he had to be careful, knew that Arthur needed his rest and would have to be presentable in the morning, but the feeling of their hips pressing together was enough to send all his worries flying out the window.

The pressure of Arthur’s fingertips on skin was just right, the sigh that escaped his lips as Francis pressed into him set his soul aflame. Everything was Arthur - the scent of soap on his skin and the feel of his lips dragging over Francis’ collarbone, the bite of fingernails in his thighs, the hushed moans and the words whispered in his ear as Arthur moulded himself to Francis’ body – everything, all at once.

It was only after, Arthur having fallen asleep immediately and curled into Francis’ side, that Francis’ mind crawled back to reality. The reality that Arthur would never be his; he would always belong to his responsibilities and to his kingdom, and doing the best for his country’s interest was at the forefront of his mind. Francis knew that, he’d told him that only recently. He brushed his hands through Arthur’s hair, his fringe falling into his face and making him twitch in his sleep, watching his chest rise and fall steadily.

Arthur had been his for the night. That was enough.

He extracted himself carefully from the sleeping prince’s embrace, pulling on his clothes and hoping he wouldn’t run into anybody in the corridor. Pressing one final kiss to Arthur’s brow, he blew out the candle and disappeared.

They didn’t see each other again until midway through the ceremony, when Arthur just so happened to catch his eye as the priest was speaking. Francis’ heart leapt in his chest at the sight of him, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment it was as though they weren’t in a room full of witnesses all watching Arthur’s every move. But then the prince turned back to face the crowd and the spell was broken, Francis simply standing at the side of the room with Elizabeta frowning at him.

The music was perfect, of course, as was the food, and everybody was making merry. Once Arthur had been relieved from his official business, he was (mostly) free to wander around the party, making sure that he introduced himself to every guest as he played the part of the host. Francis kept catching sight of him in the crowd, shaking hands with the men and kissing the ladies’ cheeks, smiling at every wish for good will that he received. His posture was perfect, his expression mild, and he carried himself like a man with the power to change the world. The king watched on with a proud grin.

When the dancing had begun in earnest and Arthur had finally managed to duck out of his seventh dance of the night, he made his way over to the banquet table, sliding into the empty spot next to Francis. The golden coronet glinted in the light.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, looking out at the couples as they twirled on the dancefloor, dresses swishing elegantly.

“Very much. Elizabeta is very glad everything has gone to plan.”

“I’m sure she is. She put in a lot of hard work, you all did.”

“Arthur, I-“

The prince turned to look at him, and where Francis had expected his unreadable smile, he found a twitching gaze, just a hint of teeth visible between Arthur’s lips, head tilted slightly so that his fringe swept sideways out of his face.

“I’ve spoken with Father about my plans for the rest of the year. As an adult, I now have more responsibilities, and really ought to be making my mark on the kingdom, you know.” Francis nodded, chest tight as he anticipated the disappointment. “So we had a discussion earlier, just after the ceremony, and I’m going to be undertaking some charity work over the summer, just a little project, and we’ll see where it goes from there. I’ll probably be away from the palace for a while, but-“

“Wait, what?” Francis gasped, and he noticed the light dancing in Arthur’s eyes as the prince bit back a smirk.

“Charity work. This summer. You understood me, yes?”

“I thought you were going to Terrahumilis?”

_I thought you were getting married_ went unsaid.

Arthur shrugged.

“That will probably happen at some point, but there’s still a while to go before bothering with any of that! I feel I can do my best work while I’m still young and fit, and Father agrees with me, so my summer will be spent in various towns across the kingdom rather than here. I suppose I’ll probably need some assistants to come with me, however…”

He raised an eyebrow at Francis, who laughed shakily in response.

“I cannot believe you. I was so worried, but now…”

“Now we’ll spend the summer together.”

“And after that?”

Arthur let out a deep sigh.

“After that, I don’t know yet. We’ll just have to wait and see. Everything could change within the next few years, or even just the few months, so there’s no point worrying about the future just yet, right?”

When he said it like that, everything seemed so easy. Francis pictured summer days spent together, Arthur teaching the village children how to read his favourite books, Francis helping the farmers harvest their summer crops, baking cakes with freshly picked strawberries and sharing them with the families. It would be warm, always warm, and it would be somewhere new, away from the strict business of the castle and the king’s concerns. What came after that didn’t need to matter at all.

Francis smiled, nudging Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur grinned and nudged him right back.

“So, to the summer?”

“To the summer.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are tonnes of plotholes in this but it would take a whole series to fully sort them out, so you can just imagine how it ends up...or something. Also you get my first 'mature' fic for FrUK (how have i even managed to keep these two perverts from that up to this point...) so uhhhh yeah  
> Thank you for reading, and may your 2016 be merry!


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